


You Can Plan On Me

by deceptigeek



Series: Christmas giftfics 2019... Now in August! [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Scavengers on the Warworld, scavengers, teeeeeechncally a Christmas fic yes I know it's September don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deceptigeek/pseuds/deceptigeek
Summary: Krok tries to encourage participation in a Warworld tradition. Deathsaurus attempts to navigate the Fulcrum issue. They get sidetracked.
Relationships: Deathsaurus/Krok (Transformers)
Series: Christmas giftfics 2019... Now in August! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591342
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	You Can Plan On Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Decepticonsensual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/gifts).



> This is probably the most egregious of the delayed fics, because it was very obviously supposed to be Christmas-themed, originally. So congratulations, DC - you’ve got the least-fashionably late gift! Sorry! Hope you can enjoy it anyway!

“So remind me - why are we bothering with all this fancy crap, for what’s basically an excuse to get Star Sabered and bunk off duty?”

Krok sighed, having learned by now not to engage with any of Crankcase’s complaints for the sake of complaining. Fulcrum, however, bridled. 

“Hey, look - it might not be much of a tradition, sure, but it’s still our tradition! The decorating’s just… just part of it. It just  _ is _ . I dunno why, but we always had it, even before… well, everything.”

“Deathsaurus…” Krok began, awkwardly (over his shoulder, Crankcase was already holding up his hands in mock surrender). “Deathsaurus told me it was a festival you picked up from a Neutral world. That’s why all the decorations look organic, right?”

Fulcrum shrugged, not meeting his captain’s gaze. “Probably. I wasn’t ever assigned to planetside details, apart from… that one time. This all just showed up for me one day, and I rolled with it.” He paused; shuffled his feet slightly. “Nice to know where it comes from though, I guess. Thanks.” 

Before Krok could reply, there was a shout from overhead. 

“Oi! Am I s’posed to hang about waving this sparkly thing all day, or are you planning to get your afts in gear?”

Misfire, frowning down upon them, brandished a string of glitzy foil leaves and kicked his heel thrusters impatiently. One glanced against the wall, and Fulcrum yelped and jumped backwards away from the sudden spray of sparks; he folded his arms, glaring between the hovering jet and the scorch mark he’d just left. 

“Oops.” With a grimace, Misfire zipped out into the middle of the corridor, away from the scene of the crime. 

Unfortunately, he was still holding the tinsel… as, indeed, was Krok, at the other end. Just as the genericon twigged what was about to happen - but before he had time to let go - there was a sudden, sharp yank and he found himself sprawled across the floor, still holding on gamely to fistfuls of spangly leaves. 

His elbows and stomach had taken the worst of the impact, and for a moment Krok was too distracted by the pain to notice footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor. 

Not so for Fulcrum. There was a tiny intake of breath and then the K-classer’s pedes were hurrying purposefully out of sight, followed a few seconds later by the door at their end of the hallway sliding shut. 

“Hey, pinhead!” The rest of the tinsel landed in a heap on Krok’s helm as Misfire went zooming after Fulcrum. “Where’re you going?!”

Krok groaned, in such a way that he hoped it might extract some sympathy from his remaining crewmate. 

“Bah!” said Crankcase. 

Resigned and wincing, the genericon scrambled upright - a process which took longer than it probably should’ve, owing to tangled limbs and bits of foil trapped in joints. He shook out the tinsel and scrutinised it, but thankfully there didn’t seem to be too much lasting damage.

It was with a heavy sigh, however, that Krok surveyed the wall Misfire had previously been hovering against. The hooks were still there, having been tacked in by the jet a little haphazardly... three quarters of the way towards the ceiling. Even Spinister would’ve struggled to reach up there in root mode, and without a flightframe around to help out, it looked as though their particular corridor would be going undecorated for a while longer. 

Which really was a shame, Krok thought. He knew Fulcrum was still having problems dealing with… well, pretty much anything related to Deathsaurus, and not least because of the tentative romance that (rather improbably, in Krok’s opinion) had sprung up between himself and the Warworld commander. It  _ had _ been the plan to get the corridor that housed all their quarters decked out in accordance with this strange little festival, just to have some way of making Fulcrum feel more included, but - 

Quite without warning, a pair of large clawed hands wrapped themselves around Krok’s waist. 

“Need an assist?”

Before Krok could reply, he found himself hoisted aloft. 

The sound he emitted was partly a squeak, partly a yelp, and wholly something he wished he could deny ever making. He fumbled the tinsel wildly, only just managing to retrieve it before it dropped out of sight. 

Glancing downwards in his efforts, Krok caught the eye of a shamelessly grinning Deathsaurus.

“Sorry.” He really sounded anything but. “Think you can reach from here?”

“I think I just might,” said Krok dryly, glancing at the ceiling, which was now about a foot above his helm - and feeling rather remorseless when a tiny sneeze emanated from below him, as the tinsel dragged across Deathsaurus’ nose. 

Two irritated little snorts followed in rapid succession, the garland continuing to twitch about in Krok’s efforts to secure it to the first hook. 

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Krok muttered. “I’m not sure what  _ about _ , but it should be a lesson all the same.” 

“A lesson about scooping up unsuspecting unit commanders at will, perhaps?”

“Oh no, you can carry on doing that, by all means. As long as it’s just the one of me.”

“Bah!” said Crankcase, again. Subsequent stomps indicated that he was storming off in disgust. 

Krok was surprised to hear a little sigh from Deathsaurus, at that.

“Well, that’s the last of your crew I’ve managed to scare off, I guess.” 

He sounded genuinely angry with himself; enough to give Krok pause, halfway through looping the tinsel over the final pin. 

A gentle tap on Deathsaurus’ shoulder got Krok settled back on the ground, which in turn got Deathsaurus two small hands wrapped around his much larger claws. Krok kept his eyes fixed on that point of contact.

“I’d like to say he’ll come around, but I don’t know if that’s true. For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think you’re doing any further damage.”

“Probably would’ve been easier if I’d had the foresight to kill Tarn myself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure single handedly bringing down the leader of the DJD would be an absolute breeze, compared to winning the forgiveness of one of your old rank-and-files.”

“Well,” Deathsaurus shrugged, unselfconsciously. “I know how to put aside personal stakes in combat.”

Something in Deathsaurs’ tone sounded off, and Krok hoped it wasn’t for the reason he suspected. He finally glanced up. 

“Did…” Krok reset his vocaliser. “Did you know Fulcrum’s name, before you sent him to Styx?” 

“Yeah. I might not have been able to tell you for sure exactly what his job was, but I could’ve put the name to a face.” Deathsaurus frowned - only now seeming to realise what mistake he was clarifying. 

“... This isn’t about you, Krok.”

“Good.”

Going into this, Krok was well aware he might’ve been setting himself up to have his spark toyed with and spat back out half-chewed (which… he supposed was still on the table if they were both interested, but in a much more mutually beneficial way). He’d been aware at the time and frankly, after mulling things over, he’d pitched onwards with enthusiasm. Also with the ethos that if anything merited throwing caution to the wind a bit, it was the knowledge that a faintly terrifying living legend of a warworld commander was into him. 

If anxiety didn’t have upsides, it at least made you feel more fortunate when the worst-case scenario failed to materialise. 

That said, Krok had never once considered taking the same risks on behalf of his crew. Deathsaurus ought to feel fortunate that he’d made the right decision, and decided against using Fulcrum as leverage to gain Krok’s favour. If he  _ had _ taken that route then - martially useless generic monoformer or no - Krok would’ve found a way to make him sorry. 

“You’re looking… slightly mutinous, actually. Should I be worried?”

“Oh, no,” Krok blinked and turned towards the door, reaching for Deathsaurus’ forearm as he went. “That was my pleased face.”

Deathsaurus’ answering hum sounded like half amusement, half something deeper, as he allowed himself to be pulled along. “I think you’re lying. I reckon that was your protective face.”

“It was my  _ appeased _ protective face,” Krok conceded. “Pray that you never see the full force of its evil twin.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Once more, Krok found himself being most agreeably manhandled; this time, Deathsaurus backed him up against the door, tilting Krok’s chin up so he could hold the genericon’s gaze with all four of his own optics. “I already had a taster the first time we met - and I wouldn’t say it exactly put me off seeing more.”

Krok sighed, leaning into the thumb trailing along his cheek, before turning what he hoped was a stern sort of admonishing Look on the other mech. It seemed to work - Deathsaurus grinned. 

“... You can either have more than a taster session, or we can have a hope of tracking down my crew.”

“Hm.” Deathsaurus pressed forwards, nuzzling into Krok’s neck. “I feel like saying I don’t care about your crew at the moment will get me exactly what I want, this time around.”


End file.
